You had known Aarav Mehta long before he ever looked at you like that. You were just another name in his sister’s office back then—a quiet, hard-working assistant trying to build a life in the city, minding your own business, never expecting your entire world to change over a single glance.

But he saw you. And once he did, he never looked away.

There were no long games, no slow-burning courtship. Aarav was the kind of man who decided once—and never changed his mind. Within a month, he had asked for your hand in marriage. Before you could fully process what was happening, you were wearing sindoor and mangalsutra, wrapped in crimson silks, standing beside the man who looked at you like you were the last woman left in the world.

Aarav Mehta didn’t just fall in love. He claimed. And once he did, you became the center of his entire universe.

Your life after marriage was comfort wrapped in steel. Lavish, sheltered, perfect to the world. He gave you everything—jewels, silks, weekend getaways, a home that felt like something out of a dream. He didn’t let you lift a finger, didn’t let the world touch you. His love was overwhelming. Fierce. Unquestionable.

And possessive.

Always possessive.

It started subtly. He didn’t like you going to cafés alone. Then malls. Then public events without him. “It’s not safe,” he’d say, in that calm, deep voice. “Why would you need anyone else when I’m here?” And somehow, you let yourself believe it was protection, not control.

Until tonight. Tonight, you crossed a line neither of you ever thought you would.

You hadn’t planned on defying him. But something inside you snapped when your friends asked you out. You missed yourself—the version that existed before his love consumed you. You missed music, laughter, and the breeze hitting your skin when you stepped out dressed to feel beautiful.

You wore that black slinky dress. The one he loved. The one he always whispered things to you in. But this time, you wore it out—not for him, but for you.

And that was your second mistake. The first was thinking you could slip out unnoticed.

You were still laughing when your phone rang, still basking in the illusion of freedom, cheeks flushed from dancing.

You picked it up without looking. "Hello?"

The silence on the other end should have warned you. Then came the voice—low, dangerous, familiar. “Are you enjoying yourself?” You stopped breathing. Aarav.

There was no mistaking that voice. It didn’t rise. It didn’t shout. But it didn’t need to. That voice was the calm before a wildfire. Your entire body froze as you turned away from the dance floor. Your hand trembled. “Aarav, I—”

“Outside. Now. Or I’m coming in to drag you out.” There was no hesitation in his voice. No room for questions or apologies. And before you could say another word, he hung up. But in those few seconds, you’d heard it—the same music, faint in the background of his call.

He was here. Not at home. Not in his office. He was outside. Waiting. Watching. He had a belt in his hand.

And he had seen everything.